Loki's Worm snippets and one-shots
by L0K1M0t10N
Summary: A collection of story ideas set in Wildbow's incredible Worm setting that I actually managed to write down and (hopefully) make readable. Intended to be ideas that I think get neglected or don't receive enough positive attention. Please rate/review, any feedback is gratefully received and much appreciated.
1. Claim the Spoils part 1

**Claim the spoils**

I slip through the halls of Winslow, head down, avoiding eye contact.

Stepping between a couple of skinheads and a trio of Asian students having a not-so-subtle staring match, I hurry onwards, avoiding the attention of either side.

First class of the day was English, and if I could get there fast enough then I could hopefully have a relatively safe morning. If I sat at the back then there was little that Emma or Sophia could do, provided they hadn't done anything to my chair first.

"I don't know why you're rushing to class. It's not like anyone wants you there."

Shit.

Emma stepped out from behind another student, her smaller form hidden by his bulk, a faint pout on her face.

I automatically shift to the side, the ingrained habit forcing me to try and avoid what's coming even as I tried to strangle the urge, resulting in an ungainly stumble. Emma's pout widened into a smile, ruby red lips stretching back as she watched me, eyes glittering.

 _Eye contact._

The connection blossomed and the faint glimmers of potential I felt suddenly bloomed into talents. Emma is a model, and her posture subtly reflects that, from the position of her shoulders to the arch of her beck as she looks down her nose at me. Emma has a whole host of smaller talents making up this modelling ability, each one unconsciously underlining everything she does.

Her make-up is expertly applied to bring a faint flush to her cheeks even as it gently emphasises them, while contrasting with the faint shadows under her eyes to leave a subtly sultry look.

Her shoulders are drawn back and her torso is slightly twisted, stretching her shirt and allowing her to lean back just enough to look down at me despite lacking several inches of height. Everything is calibrated to draw attention without making it obvious that this is what she is doing, and Emma was clearly exulting in this fact.

"Even the teacher wishes you'd drop out already."

 _Conversation._

The connections grew still further, and I see more of what she is capable of, the various building blocks that make up Emma.

I see the different skills that her talent at applying make-up is made from, from the lipstick to the rouge to the eye-shadow. I see more of her fashion abilities, how colours are applied and contrasted and just how much posture and movement affect how good a specific outfit can look. It's interesting to note how the faint idea of hairstyles seems to straddle some gap between these two schools of knowledge.

Behind those talents, in some abstract distance I still struggle to grasp, I get a vague idea of mathematics and English, of music and history. But these are pale shadows compared to the ones I see on display before me, and I ignore them. I'll always have time for those later.

"Or are you trying to pretend that she actually likes to have you around?"

 _Active use._

Ah.

There we are.

One talent briefly flares up, the connection shining in my mind as Emma speaks. This is the lead up to something, given that Emma is focusing on her words now, deliberately choosing which ones to use. Although I could have guessed that from the cruel satisfaction slowly building behind her eyes.

It's a nebulous concept, shining bright, felt as much as seen and difficult to put into words yet no less clear for that. It's Emma's way with words. Her ability to twist people around her finger as she speaks, leaving them off-balance and unable to speak back. Her way of dominating conversations, of always knowing exactly what to say and which tone to say it in. It's her ability to speak to people and effortlessly glide through conversations where I would stumble and falter.

She tilted her head to the side, eyes widening and smile slowly fading to match the brightening of her modelling talent. Her appearance of innocence grew to contrast the words she was about to speak.

"Or are you that desperate to find an adult that cares about you you'll pretend another English teacher can fill in the gap?"

I'm pulling on that connection, the abstract feeling of how to twist words and sway others slowly starting to fill me up, so that it takes a few seconds for Emma's actual words to register.

When they do it's like a leaden weight slowly settling in my stomach, pulling everything down with it. I can only gape at Emma, shocked despite everything that she would actually say such a thing, and her smile reappears, the vicious glee that she had carefully hidden before springing forth.

"I mean, it's not like your dad actually cared enough to feed you when your mother died. You had to rely on _my_ family for that."

The connections flared brighter, and I started to latch onto them, desperately pulling in the hope that I could find some way to make her stop.

"Are you hoping she'll take pity on you? Maybe one day give you a hug?"

I pull harder, starting to see ideas on how to escape coalesce into being.

"As if anyone would. You're gross, Taylor. You stink, and you're greasy and nobody wants to touch you, let alone come near you."

Her taunts seem to be losing their effectiveness. They do that, every time I copy them, and by the time Emma's usually finished with me they've stopped hurting so much. I think that Emma has noticed this, because she seems to have been getting more vicious lately, and by her look of triumph I think that she's been planning this one for a while.

"For someone who doesn't want me here, you seem to spend an awful lot of time trying to speak to me. It's funny. I'd almost think _you_ cared about me."

 _Interaction._

The connection flared brighter still, as my talent reached out to her and met her talent reaching for me.

Emma stalls for a moment, seemingly startled by my response, before her eyes narrow and her lip curls.

"You bother me, Taylor. You're depressing, and lame, and every time I see you it reminds me of how much time I wasted being your friend. Years of my life I'll never get back. Years I could have spent doing something worthwhile instead of hanging around with you."

The shock I felt at Emma's words had turned into anger now, and I felt buoyed up by righteous fury at her attempt to sully my mother's memory.

"And yet almost every day you go out of your way to remind yourself. If it really bothered you so much I would have thought you'd just leave me alone instead of following me around everywhere."

Emma seems momentarily speechless, and I have a few seconds to luxuriate in my rare victory. It's foolish, but for now I can savour that look of shock, of _confusion_ on her face, even as it's banished by spite.

"With you walking around like a drowned puppy? Only with rabies. And covered in shit. How can I avoid you when you insist on coming to a school where nobody wants you? Everyone hates you. You're like a slut only nobody wants you."

The insults are coming fast, but most surprising is their lack of coherency. It's like Emma is throwing whatever comes to mind at me and seeing what sticks. I feel a momentary flicker of contempt then, which surprises me as much as my defiance must have surprised Emma.

"Yet you insist on coming up to me and speaking to me almost every day. It's like you're afraid to cut ties or something. What's the matter Emma? Does your life revolve around me so much that even when we stopped being friends you couldn't bear to stay away? Careful, this level of fixation isn't healthy."

The look of pure, unadulterated shock on her face as she splutters out some response is something I'll treasure for a long time to come. I know I'll pay for it later on, when Emma comes back with something suitably twisted as punishment for speaking back, but in that moment I can't bring myself to care.

I don't stop to hear what she has to say next, instead walking right past her with a sniff. In the periphery of my vision I can see a few students looking at us and muttering, but in that moment I can't bring myself to care what they have to say. The fury in me is still smouldering as I make my way to English class, slipping through the doorway just as the bell rings, and I slam my books down on the table, garnering a stern look from Mrs Jeffries, which I ignore.

...

It takes a while to centre myself enough to pay attention to the class, and I do this by slowly reaching out to my other classmates, focusing on one at a time and slowly building up a murky picture of their talents.

Some of the results surprise me.

Who knew that Edward the skinhead would be reasonably decent at playing the violin? Well, probably his friends and other people in his class, but I certainly didn't know that. Granted, I have always tried to avoid anyone displaying gang allegiances, so I guess if I paid more attention to him then I would probably have already known. But that would involve paying attention to an Empire kid, which I really don't want to do in case they start paying attention back.

The connection is weak, mere proximity not enough to allow for any meaningful attempt to copy the skill, and after a couple of minutes I drop it. There's not much point when such a small amount of talent would fade in a couple of days anyway, and I don't even own or play a violin.

I look back to the teacher, but she's still droning on at the front of the class, not even looking up from her papers. Perhaps I'm being uncharitable, but Emma's words have nettled me, and I feel a momentary flicker of spite towards Mrs Jeffries, simply for being in a position where Emma can use her job against me. It's silly, I know, and yet I can't stop the feeling.

I tune her out, gaze slowly drifting from one student to the next, seeing who knows things that I don't and what those things are.

I pause as I get the momentary image of a snake with its head raised, tongue flicking out and tasting the air, deciding where to strike. I wonder where the image comes from, slightly disquieted by the thought. It's not a particularly apt comparison, but there's no denying that there is a certain predatory air to me 'tasting' my potential targets.

I look over at Jeremy, eyes lingering long enough to get an idea of his capabilities before I dismiss him and move on. Nothing of note.

Alicia is more promising, showing some talent with art and a better grasp of calculus than I possess. I mentally flag her for future selection, remembering that I have math class second thing tomorrow, and keep looking.

Matthew seems interesting, as it looks like he has some ability in kayaking and white water rafting. I spend a few minutes wondering where he learned those skills, and just how good he is at them. Maybe his dad would take him out in the summer on camping trips? Maybe he was part of a group of friends that would do adventurous things in the school holidays. Did they try something new every time, or do the same thing because they enjoyed it so much?

I feel a pang of envy at the thought, and I don't know if it's the thought of having friends to do such a thing with or a dad being so involved in my life that such trips were possible. The idea of being able to afford to go on such trips often enough to get good at them is there, but it's an old and feeble twitch in comparison.

It takes Mrs Jeffries changing the tone of her voice to make me realise that I've been staring into space in the general direction of Matthew for several minutes now and I quickly look down at my book, a faint flush working its way up my cheeks. The last thing I need right now is to be seen staring at someone.

No need to give anybody any more ammunition, after all.

I skim over the work sheets in front of me and calm down, seeing that I'm not too far behind. I briefly consider copying some language skills from Mrs Jeffries, but since there aren't any tests before the Christmas holidays for this class there doesn't seem much point.

No, far better to keep looking into other people and see if they have anything I can use or try out in the next few days.

I glance over at Wu and Kyo sitting in the other corner, but then decide against it. I guess I just don't really want to know what skills they might have given that they're wearing red and green. Part of me knows it's ridiculous, that a pair of not-particularly-fit fifteen year olds will have some sort of dangerous skill or will have even done anything to begin with, but I still don't want to know.

One quick mental chuckle at my reticence and I move on to the next student. I turn it into a game, seeing if they have unusual or unexpected talents and trying to construct a story around them to explain why.

It's silly and not very productive, but I surprise myself with how much I enjoy it, and as I slide my books into my bag and rise to leave I realise I'm actually smiling to myself.

...

The bell rings for lunch, and the slight glow of happiness I held inside me fades away, vanishing like an ember in an empty fireplace.

 _An hour is too long for lunch._

There will be a lot of students in the cafeteria, and I'm suddenly seized by curiosity as to what they might be able to do.

But that means a lot of people to potentially copy talents from. But it also means far more people who might be watching me, with no teacher to take up their attention, and I can't afford to have anybody notice me spacing out like I did in English class.

No. The risk is too high, and I walk off to find someone out of the chill December wind without other students around. For now, I'll simply take it as a break from the rest of school.

Not the first time I've made this decision.

Some of the classrooms on the third floor will be open, some place quiet where I can eat in peace and read until the bell goes. That sounds... better.

Decision made, I turn and start walking, moving slowly against the flow of students, mostly sticking to the wall opposite the lockers and taking a few steps when there's a lull in the crowds. Eventually the herd of students thins out and I can relax, my pace slowing to something more sedate as I make my way up the stairs.

 _Thud._

Something slams into me at the top of the stairs, sending me flying, and it's only the lucky flailing of one arm that prevents me from tumbling back down the stairs, although one wrist smacks into the rails as I grab them, sending shivers of pain lancing up my arm.

"Watch it, Hebert."

Just my luck. I glance up at Sophia, seeing her scorn and matching it with a facade of impassivity. We stare at each other for a few seconds, and that's long enough for my temper to flare, reaching out and latching onto an aspect of Sophia.

It's her running ability, naturally, and though it's dull and unfocused now it's easy enough to find, and I get to work. For an all-too-brief moment I delight in the thought of Sophia left panting in my wake, unable to catch me as I escape, and I hungrily pull on her running form.

Then reality intrudes, and I realise that all I'm doing is cheering myself on at the thought of running away. As if I could. Even if I copied her running form completely, Sophia would still be much fitter and faster than I am. All I would achieve is to prolong the chase and leave Sophia more frustrated with me in the end.

I blink and look away, awkwardly clambering to my feet, wrist twinging as I pull my bag back up over my shoulder. Then her foot lashes out as I pass her, and I'm back into full body contact with the ground, only a few seconds after rising.

My breath huffs out of me, leaving me slightly stunned.

"That's where you belong. Now stay there."

Sophia stares down at me to make sure I've gotten the message.

Perhaps it was my earlier response to Emma that makes me so bold, but after managing that to find myself still having to deal with the same shit when I thought I'd gotten away and I'm suddenly furious with Sophia.

It's such an unexpected emotion that it catches me by surprise, and for a brief moment I'm unguarded with my expression, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching with the sheer _loathing_ I feel right now.

Sophia is caught wrong-footed, confusion flickering across her face before it shuts down and a hard expression appears. As I go to rise once more her posture shifts, one foot sliding backwards slightly and shoulders lifting.

I wouldn't have noticed but for the new thread in Sophia that brightens with use, sparking off a dozen smaller connections as her combat training slides into place.

My gaze never leaves Sophia's as I stand, but I make sure to keep my face blank while I tentatively start to copy the combat training. Where did she get it from? I knew Sophia was a fairly violent person, but usually this was limited to kicks, trips and shoves. She'd never karate-chopped me or roundhouse kicked me in the face.

At least, not unless she'd done it hard enough to make me forget it ever happened.

Sophia never breaks eye contact, which I'm grateful for, and my stance slowly starts to match hers. The amusement fades from her eyes and the thread flares brighter.

"You really want to start something, Hebert?" She whispers, and for a second I'm tempted. Could I actually do it? Keep the conversation, confrontation, going long enough to copy enough to make a difference? I doubt it, but it could last me a week, maybe more if I do. I've never copied enough of someone's talent to test it before but now, almost drunk on suicidal defiance, it seems like a marvellously compelling idea.

I'm aware that even if I gain all of Sophia's skill at fighting, she'd have the same and be much stronger and fitter too. But still.

"Come on, I'm hungry. Why the hell are you talking to Taylor, anyway?"

We both turn at the sound of Julia's voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, her tone a mixture of impatience and confusion.

Sophia grunts and heads after Julia, shooting me one last suspicious look as she goes.

Once she does the tension drains out of me like pus from a boil, leaving me feeling exhausted and irritable. Why did I think provoking her was a good idea?

It makes me wonder though.

If I can endure enough of those encounters to copy enough to deal with them, could I eventually convince them to just leave me alone? The talents I borrow are only temporary, but the more they try to harass me, the more opportunity I'll have to borrow what I need to deal with it. And if it then reaches the point where these borrowed talents fade, it means that I might have had a whole week without being harassed.

There's a certain beauty to the idea.

...

I'm almost meditative by the time history rolls around.

I ignore the other students and instead focus on the teacher, feeling the collective I identify as 'history' burgeoning as he starts to speak.

I can see Emma and Madison whispering together in my peripheral vision, occasionally shooting my filthy looks or murmuring to another student, but I try to tune them out.

It's interesting to note which connections grow brighter or dimmer as Mr Thomson changes topic or uses different examples, comparing different points in history. I start drawing from that, feeling that if I'm going to focus on someone in class, it might as well be the teacher.

I still can't shake the thought of just standing there and letting them harass me, or actively fighting back against them. Just the idea of it is making me anxious, and my fingers start twitching, fiddling with my pen and curling up the edges of the paper.

No. That's not necessary. If they catch me then I can copy what I need then, but there's no need to actively seek out confrontations with them or just stand there and wait to be caught. Decision made, I relax somewhat, turning back to the whiteboard in time to catch an annoyed look from Mr Thomson.

"Taylor, since you clearly find this lesson so engrossing, I'm sure you will be able to tell us all when the birth of Genghis Khan was."

I freeze as I feel the weight of everybody's attention, Emma, Julia and Madison clearly enjoying my impending embarrassment. Damn it, when the hell did the lesson cover this? Or was it one of yesterday's topics?

I can almost feel the answer tickling the edge of my memories, and I start focusing on whatever it is I am getting from Mr Thomson while he stares at me, until the silence has gone on for too long and I can only shrug helplessly.

"I don't know, Mr Thomson." I say, looking him in the eye and managing to keep my voice level, just as something else clicks into place.

"Perhaps you should pay more attention-"

"But that's because nobody does. His date of birth was never recorded, only estimated at some time around eleven sixty two, with years of leeway either side. A few years, anyway. His death was on August eighteenth, twelve twenty seven, aged..." I stop and think for a few seconds, "approximately sixty five years of age. Give or take."

Mr Thomson blinks, about as surprised by my sudden display of knowledge as I and everyone else are.

"Absolutely correct, Taylor. However, we weren't discussing the birth, age or death of Genghis Khan, we were discussing the Korean War and how it compared to other wars, using the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century as a brief comparison."

I flush, and the other students titter.

"Do actually pay attention in class, please. I'm impressed you actually know that, but it doesn't matter what you know if it isn't what you're being asked about in an exam."

I nod and look back to my books, trying to hold my pen steady. I dutifully take notes until the lesson ends, and as I make my way over to the buses to go home I'm left wondering when exactly I learned that information.


	2. Claim the Spoils part 2

**Claim the Spoils Part 2**

There were already several people waiting when I reached the PRT headquarters downtown.

It was a large building, only five stories high compared to the skyscrapers in the nearby blocks, but wide with it, keeping a fair amount of space between it and the nearby buildings. For some sort of security reasons, I assumed. Its exterior was all windows, which would have given it a more open, inviting air if it weren't for the fact that every one of them was barred.

The guards standing outside the door turned their heads to watch me, and though they made no move to shoulder their assault rifles I felt suddenly nervous as I went in. There were two people who may have been a couple and what looked like parents with three kids, each one of them yammering excitedly. None of them looked older than eight, and each greeted me with a brief look of curiosity followed by immediately forgetting I existed as they returned to their conversations.

I smiled at the adults and voiced tentative helloes which they returned politely, however none of them seemed inclined to strike up a conversation and I was soon left on my own.

To fill in time rather than stand around awkwardly, I started examining the interior of the room. The most notable feature was certainly the portraits of the Wards, large photos framed and lined up on the walls. Unlike most photos of the Wards, which tended to emphasise their friendliness and youth, or at least fail to hide it, these pictures gave them a slightly more solemn and dignified approach.

Or perhaps that was just because the Wards were standing still in these pictures, which were emphasising the costumes rather than the people inside them.

Only two of the portraits showed any expression, and those were Kid Win and Vista. The others were only masks, Aegis only showing his eyes and the others not even that. My eye was drawn to the picture of Shadow Stalker; the new Ward was announced just the other month, and the stern woman's face on her mask looked down at us.

In contrast to this, Kid Win's photo showed an easy smile, his red and gold costume warm and welcoming next to Shadow Stalker's drab black and grey.

Vista was more serious, her unsmiling visage lacking the subtly threatening appearance of her older female teammate, but also the height and age to carry it off. Her seriousness somehow conspired to leave her looking younger rather than older or more mature.

Off to my right was the gift shop, the glass wall separating it from the lobby letting everybody get a good eyeful of the wares on display, from action figures of all the local heroes to items of clothing with their likenesses on them. I saw a shelf of little plastic laser pistols in Kid Win's colours, and felt an irrational urge to buy one.

Then, recalling why I was here, I turned back to the other visitors, only to remember that they were each concerned with their own business.

The silence felt slightly uncomfortable to me, as much as I knew that it was just my imagination. A few more people joined us as the minutes crawled by, though nothing in particular about them stood out to me. The idea of trying to speak to some of the troopers standing on guard was dismissed the moment it appeared in my mind.

Maybe I just needed more. More of a connection, or more interaction, maybe.

An impact struck the back of my legs and I stumbled, turning around in surprise to see two of the children squabbling over something one of them was holding. The other was glaring at them with the intense focus only achieved by small children focusing on candy or cheaply produced toys, gripping their fists and trying unsuccessfully to pry them open.

The children's parents quickly stepped forward to separate them, with the father shooting me an apologetic look.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said, over the increasingly antagonistic cries of the child as it saw its prize moving out of reach. "Look away for a moment and..." he trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"It's okay," I reassure him. "They're probably just excited to meet some heroes." I offer him a faint smile, and he returns it, probably glad I wasn't making an issue or getting upset.

When he returns his focus to the struggling child in his arms I feel the connections fade slightly, and realise that I've been given an excuse to interact with strangers. After all, it's not awkward to talk to a stranger if he spoke to me first, right?

"Did the kids drag you out to take the tour with them?" I ask, taking the plunge and continuing a conversation for a change, "or are you treating them for something?"

"A bit of both, really," he chuckles. "We promised them the opportunity to meet some heroes if they got their grades up, and they insisted that we all had to come or it didn't count. So Alice took the day off and we of course had to take the first morning tour instead of the afternoon ones."

"Not saving it as a treat for the end of the day?" I asked, slightly surprised. I almost raised one eyebrow, but I wasn't confident I had the ability to make that work.

The father gave an exaggerated grimace.

"I wish. It would be much easier if we were allowed to do that," he said, looking down pointedly at the boy whose wrists he was holding. The boy promptly blew a raspberry at him, and I had to fight to keep a straight face. "But no, we had to go as early as possible to make sure we wouldn't try to back out of our deal."

"Uh-huh," the boy said, looking at me and nodding emphatically.

"Well, that sound fair to me," I said teasingly, and the father shoots me a mock betrayed expression as his son smirks triumphantly.

 _Proximity. Eye contact. Interaction._

I was so thrilled at being able to hold a conversation with a stranger that I almost forgot to activate my power. A nudge in my mind and the landscape of this man's abilities bloomed in my perception.

Let's see, a slight ability to deal with people, in the front of power's eye because we were speaking, but less than Emma's and already something I was using.

The ability to drive a vehicle? That would actually be useful, and I start drawing upon it while examining what else this man contains.

Spreadsheet skills? Pass. Some nebulous ideas about organisation and filing systems? Pass. If I had to guess, this man worked as a secretary or some kind of desk jockey at a business or company, either a small one or simply not having a high-up position.

He also had the ability to cook to a greater extent than I did, and I considered drawing on that instead, but ultimately decided against it. Yes, it might be more useful to me as things are, but I was already drawing upon his ability to drive, and right now I just felt like continuing that.

A few seconds had passed while I worked my way through this man's talents, and I realised that the conversation had stalled. Grabbing the first topic that sprang to mind, I turned to the child in question and asked, "What hero do you want to meet today?"

Too late, I saw his father wince, as the child's smile broadened and he proudly yelled out "Cockblocker!" before breaking down in giggles, shortly followed by what I assumed to be his brother.

The children's mother, busy trying to calm down the other boy, flushed as she looked over at the noise, her smile turning quite forced while she whispered forcefully to her own child. The receptionist behind the lobby may have rolled his eyes, but when I glanced over the thin man was resolutely looking at the screen in front of him, giving every appearance of not having heard.

I shut my eyes for a moment, fervently wishing that I had chosen to remain silent.

"Mine does the same."

The boy's father and I look over to one of the other adults waiting alongside us.

"He recently found out what it means and looks for every opportunity to shout it out," she continued, looking sympathetic. "Of course it's the funniest thing in the world, especially when we have guests over."

She shuddered slightly.

"Every day I thank God that mine grew out of that a few months ago," another adult chips in, smiling in delight at the scene. "Now I just get to watch other parents dealing with it."

He sighed happily, while the first father narrowed his eyes and the woman laughed.

"Best part of them growing up is not having to deal with these problems. Second best part is watching those that do."

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up," the father grumbled, while the other adults chuckled.

The rest of the wait passed in a pleasant mix of jokes and casual conversation, and I was delighted at how easily it came to me now. I was far from a master of the conversational arts, and I stumbled and hesitated more than I should, but compared to this time last week? I was like a socialite, smooth as silk.

When the tour guide finally arrived I was almost sad. How long had it been since I'd had a conversation with other go this well? A year? More? Maybe it was the fact that none of the people involved were my age, or maybe it was because I had never met any of them before and they had never met me, but something daunting and intimidating was now simple, even pleasant.

I had missed this.

Nobody looking down at me. No jokes at my expense, or barbed comments, or having to watch out for feet attempting to trip me. Just people talking and enjoying each other's company.

When the others gathered around the tour guide I kept near to the back, out of sight. This was serious, now. I was inside the base of a team of super heroes. I had to focus on that, not on... not on how good it felt to be treated like a normal human being.

I had powers, and I was visiting a team of heroes, and I would be using my powers without telling them.

My heart rate spiked at the thought, adrenaline slithering through my veins and my breath catching. Could I be charged with that? Would the heroes have some way of knowing if I was using my powers on them? Surely not. I would just be some teenager visiting the local heroes and asking questions. There was nothing wrong with that. Besides, even if they somehow found out that I had powers, it wasn't illegal for a parahuman to go on tours through the Rig. I wasn't a villain, after all. I hadn't committed any crimes.

I force myself to take a deep breath and bury the nervousness. I'm going to be meeting, maybe even speaking with some genuine heroes, and I can't freak out or act weird. It's difficult. I've never had the effortless way of speaking with people that Emma did, even as a child and I certainly never had the poise to make whatever I said or wore come across as natural. It irritates me that even now all I can think about is how Emma would be able to do this much more easily than I could.

I almost slam my head into the wall after thinking that. Yes, Emma can speak to people easily, but for the next few days at least I can too. It's a peculiar mixture of galling shame and weird pride that I end up using Emma' ability to speak to people while trying to get away from Winslow, but focusing on how she speaks to people she's trying to win over now makes this whole enterprise seem that bit less daunting.

I walk over with the rest of the small crowd when the tour guide beckons us.

"Hello everybody, my name is Jeremy and welcome to the first tour of the day of the PRT headquarters, East-North-East department."

The tour guide wasn't what I would call a young man, but wasn't really old enough to be considered middle aged either. Rather than the black body armour and chainmail of the regular PRT troopers, with its accompanying face-covering visor, he was dressed smartly in black slacks and a black dress shirt. The symbol of the PRT was displayed prominently on his right breast pocket. Clean shaven and with a strong jaw line, he was well built, with the muscles still defined through his shirt clearly gained through rigorous exercise and hard work, rather than for show, like body builders.

"We'll start the tour by moving through the various facilities accessible to the Wards of the East-North-East department, and we'll finish up in the Wards common room, where I believe a couple of the Wards are currently residing."

This prompted a gaggle of whispers and excited muttering from the children, but I barely heard that, reaching out to the tour guide and seeing what he had to offer.

A little bit of accounting and a bit more of tennis, some basic chess skills, substantially better driving skills than the father I had been speaking to before and _aha, this is what I'm after_.

Combat training.

Turns out that Jeremy the tour guide was also exceptionally well trained with all number of weapons. I could see assault rifles prominent among them, with a few subtle variations that lead to me to suspect that they were different models of gun, like the idea of shooting had an afterimage or two inside Jeremy's mind. Handgun training was close behind. A few more variations in the handguns than in assault rifles seemed to support my earlier hypothesis of them being gun models. It made sense, since there were more models of handgun than assault rifle around.

Beyond handguns there were knife fighting techniques from several different schools, both lethal and non-lethal, and closely connected to those were numerous unarmed fighting techniques. Let's see, there was a fair bit of judo, a fair bit more of kick-boxing, quite a decent amount of what I suspected was Krav Maga. Whatever it was, it seemed to be aggressive, and going for the throat and groin appeared to feature prominently.

Wow, Jeremy the tour guide didn't appear to do things by halves. There were also subtler talents hidden away in between the ones geared towards violence. Next to each type of weapon skill, if 'next' was a word applicable to the strange, interconnected matrix of knowledge that I felt as much as saw when I looked into someone, was the knowledge of how to maintain it. There was situational awareness, threat assessment and some form of... counter-espionage?

No, that wasn't it. It was about looking for tails and knowing how to throw them off. I peered a bit deeper into this somewhat nebulous idea. Counter-surveillance, maybe?

"So," Jeremy said, smiling around them and interrupting my reverie, "who's ready to begin the tour?"

The children yammered excitedly, and the adults made some general noises of agreement, which I belatedly joined in on. Jeremy the tour guide turned to the large double doors at the back of the room and stepped up to a smooth, shiny black box mounted on the wall next to them. He held a button down, and after a couple of seconds there was a soft _beep_ noise and the doors noiselessly opened.

"Retinal scanners are some of the primary security measures here at PRT headquarters," he explained as he led us downstairs. "Each area only has a limited number of people capable of accessing it, and only at specified times. So don't think about trying to kidnap me to get a surprise tour," he added, throwing a smile over his shoulder at us, to a few chuckles.

"Um, if only a few people can get into each area," I began, too focused on what I might get from Jeremy to realise that I was speaking in front of a group until a few seconds too late, when he, along with other members of the group, turned to look at me. Stalling slightly at the expectant faces, I forced myself to keep speaking. "And you're one of them, how come you aren't, you know, wearing body armour or anything." I trailed off a bit at the end, acutely aware that now even the children had started paying attention to me.

"I mean," I said, rallying slightly, "everybody upstairs has kevlar and chainmail and stuff, and they're carrying assault rifles and, and you don't have any of that stuff."

God, this was embarrassing. I should have just kept my mouth shut and gone through the tour without attracting any attention to myself.

"Well, they don't give me the full suit of armour because my job is to interact with the public, and it's a bit hard to do that when they can't see my face and I'm carrying weapons the entire time."

Jeremy smiled encouragingly at me, and I felt my tension ease slightly.

"But wearing armour would be way cooler!" One of the children called out enthusiastically, and several of the others nodded.

"I'm glad you think so," Jeremy laughed, "but you don't have to worry about me. I'm wearing a stab vest. As for weapons, I don't have any in case people try to infiltrate the headquarters through the tour and try to take them off me. We don't want a fire fight in an enclosed space with civilians, and in case anyone does try we have the containment foam to deal with that."

Here he raised a hand and pointed to the ceiling, where I noticed a series of nozzles emerging.

"Anyone who starts something will be immobilised in seconds, without risk to any innocent people in the area, unlike a gun fight. Besides, I have plenty of training in hand to hand combat against both armed and unarmed opponents. It's one of the requirements of this particular job."

That catches my attention, and as we reach the bottom of the stairs and arrive at a corridor leading to the Ward facilities I decide on what I need to copy. Walking slightly faster, I slip to the front of the group and start reaching for his ability to fight people.

The nexus inside him seems to rearrange in response to my needs, the idea of defending myself while unarmed reaching out and finding what matches in Jeremy the tour guides pool of talents. The connection between us strengthens as I get closer to him, and I decide to keep him talking.

"So what kind of training do PRT agents get? I figure it would be a fair since, since you deploy alongside heroes and deal with villains."

"A lot of us were drawn from the military, so we'll have training from that, along with our own unique training to deal with parahuman threats. For obvious reasons, I won't be telling you about that. A lot of it is similar to the training that all law enforcement officers receive, only a lot more intensive. A number of us used to be cops, too. Think of us as being like SWAT teams, only specialising in responses to parahuman incidents rather than regular ones. We also get additional training in non-lethal takedowns."

I'm drawing upon the judo and what I now realise is aikido as he speaks, nodding absently. I considered Krav Maga, but the brutality of the techniques turns me off the idea. Defending myself is one thing, but I don't want to cripple anyone.

The tour continues like this for some time, with Jeremy taking us around the different facilities the PRT use, as well as the extra ones the Wards have access to, such as a small classroom where they can take parahuman study courses, or the rather well equipped gym. Jeremy explains that the PRT troopers use the larger one upstairs, although instructors with the Wards can use the smaller one too.

"Now then," Jeremy says briskly, clapping his hands together to make sure he has our attention. "We're about to enter the Wards common room and meet a couple of them. Before we do though, I have a few questions."

He looks around at everyone in the group.

"First of all, is anybody here a villain?"

There was a pause as we digested this, followed by some shaking of heads and eye-rolling.

"No-one? Damn," he sighed. "One day I'll catch someone with that."

He continues down the featureless grey corridor, speaking as he goes. "Secondly, who here can tell me when the PRT was founded?"

He looks first to the small children, and when they can't answer he turns to me, presumably working his way up by age.

"Nineteen ninety three," I respond, and he smiles.

"Correct. Can you tell me the date in nineteen ninety three?"

I pause, wracking my memories of history class and trying to recall if it had ever come up. I'd definitely heard it somewhere, though the where was eluding me right now.

"It was in January," I said slowly, and Jeremy nodded and smiled encouragingly. "January the... eighth?"

He winced theatrically, and sucked in his breath through his teeth.

"Close, but not quite. The PRT was officially founded on January the eighteenth, though most people remember it for the nation-wide broadcast of the swearing in of the founders rather than the PRT itself."

He stopped as we reached the end of the corridor, and again he looked closely at a retinal scanner next to the door. However, once it _beeped_ the door remained closed, a red light appearing above.

"An alarm just went off on the other side, to let the Wards know that guests are here and give them time to put their masks on, if they aren't already," he explained.

We waited, and soon the light above the door turned green and Jeremy pushed them open. A hiss of air reached me and I felt my ears pop slightly.

"And here we have the Wards, and I'll let them introduce themselves." Jeremy stepped back to one side, giving us an unobstructed view of the common room and its occupants.

It was a surprisingly large room, tall and brightly lit. The edges of the room looked like prefabricated walls, and I suspected that they must have been added in after the construction was finished. There were a few desks and chairs positioned on one side, several with some boxes stacked on top of them, while on the other were several sofas arranged around a television.

Leaning on one of the sofas was a lean figure in a white bodysuit, armour panels decorated with clocks covering him, and a smooth, featureless white helmet. Standing next to him was a figure in polished chrome armour, larger and bulkier. Clockblocker and Gallant.

"Hello, and welcome to the Wards headquarters."

Gallant was the one who had spoken, his voice warm and friendly, in contrast to the rather sterile appearance of his armour, for all that it invoked images of knighthood and chivalry. He started walking over to us, the heavy _clump, clump_ of his footsteps on the floor punctuating the soft _whir_ of his power armour.

"I am Gallant," here he turned to his companion, and the other Ward smoothly took over.

"And I'm Clockblocker."

There was an outburst of giggling from the children, and I heard a hissed "Don't you dare" from one of the parents, but I couldn't pinpoint who.

"It's nice to see you all got up bright and early for the first tour," Clockblocker said in a tone of false innocence, and I could hear the smile in his voice as he looked over the laughing children.

I hung back for a bit while the Wards answered questions. Those form the children tended to be along the lines of "How many villains have you fought?" or why Clockblocker picked his name, which he adroitly answered with "Because I stop time from getting to people, of course. Why else?" In turn, Gallant spoke of how he wished to live up to the ideals and examples of the heroes that had come before them, and eventually provide a good example for the heroes who would come after them.

I took the time to get a feel for what each Ward had to offer.

Gallant showed no little talent when it came to managing people, and I was tempted to sample that if I hadn't already got much the same from Emma a few days ago. What was interesting was that while I could see the ability to manoeuvre around in his armour, the ability to build it was completely absent.

This baffled me, and I spent another couple of minutes trying to feel out the different abilities that Gallant possessed. Some sports, some math and history at a level above my own, the ability to drive and some basic fighting techniques, but overall nothing about his talents stood out beyond other people and there was absolutely no trace of his tinkering abilities.

Of course there wouldn't be I realised, resisting the urge to smack myself in the face. It's his power, and while I can copy skills from people I can hardly copy their powers.

I looked over at Clockblocker, who was answering some of the parent's questions on schooling and education while with the Wards. He was answering confidently and positively, assuring them that the Wards received sufficient education, with the Youth Guard making sure none of them were lacking in education or the time and opportunity to socialise with their peers outside of their job. I noticed that while he was projecting a lot of confidence, he also neglected to give out any details as to how these details were ensured, just assuring that they were. Made sense, I suppose. They certainly wouldn't want to accidentally out a Ward by telling a concerned parent too many details about school.

His answers seemed remarkably polished for a boy who publicly introduced himself as Clockblocker, and a small, cynical part of me wondered just how much PR training he had received in answer to his little stunt.

 _Well, there's one way to find out._

Beyond a similar ability to drive and some basic sports and games talents, there was actually not too much to see. Oh, he certainly received some self-defence training, more than Gallant in fact, but when I thought about it I was quite certain that Sophia had more training in self-defence than either of the Wards. Mind you, she probably just liked hurting people.

Jeremy the tour guide had more training than the three of them combined, several times over, in fact.

"Well, I suppose we can move onto the power demonstrations, unless anyone has any more questions?"

Clockblocker looked around at the group, hands spread wide and inviting.

"I have a question," I say, raising my hand slightly and making an awkward semi-waving motion. "What kind of training do the Wards get, and do the PRT train you, or do you have special instructors for it?"

"Wards receive fairly broad training in a few areas," Gallant said, taking over, "such as self-defence, public speaking and the finer details regarding parahuman law. As for the who, it's a bit of both. A number of the PRT agents are trained as instructors, and we receive our training from them just like the regular PRT troopers do. Sometimes we train alongside the troopers, other times just as Wards or occasionally one-on-one with the instructors. Some instructors work here in the city, others come over from New York or Boston, depending on the situation, to teach more advanced courses, like hostage negotiation or more intensive combat techniques, although that stuff is pretty much always just for the Protectorate heroes."

I nodded, digesting this. It explained why the Wards were a lot less trained than the standard PRT trooper, as disappointing as it was.

I stepped back, letting the junior heroes get on with the power display, as Clockblocker froze objects in midair and then let people try to move them, warning them that the objects would be unfrozen at any moment. I couldn't help but smile when I watched a couple of children hanging off a cardboard tube, gradually getting red in the face with the effort.

Gallant would shoot lasers out of his armoured gauntlets, though as much as I tried, I couldn't see quite where they originated from. The lasers from his fingers knocked some of the boxes over, with Gallant explaining that their biggest affect was to change the moods of those they struck, something which he adamantly refused to use on the children, despite their invitations, or the parents, despite even louder and more enthusiastic invitations, also from the children.

At one point he cupped his hand and conjured up a ball of glowing light, throwing it in an over-arm toss that hit a pile of boxes and scattered them across the room.

I nodded and smiled my way through the rest of the tour, but inside I was trying to bite back my frustration. Despite all my hopes, it seemed like the Wards wouldn't be of any help. No, the people with the most impressive skills were the PRT, or maybe the Protectorate heroes, although I had yet to meet any of them, and it wasn't like a teenage girl could walk up to a PRT agent or hero and get chatty with them.

I suppose I could take the tour again, but I was pretty sure the tours were monitored, given the rather serious security they had on display, and someone repeatedly taking the same tour would attract attention.

Jeremy makes sure to draw attention to the gift shop when we return to the lobby, but my mind is already far away on what I can do next. It seems clear that the Wards are not the place to go for the skills I can use, and as nice as the self defence training is, it's not like I can fight back against people like Sophia without causing further problems. Besides, even if I wanted to, I would probably have to take the tour every couple of weeks just to stay in readiness, yet I still wouldn't have the fitness to actually use the training.

That gives me pause.

Maybe I don't have the fitness right now, but that can change. I'm sure I've heard somewhere that there are different workout techniques you can use, and some are better than others. I can always start with something simple, like running, to get my basic fitness up. Though the first person that springs to mind when I think about running is Sophia. Maybe I can borrow her running technique.

Really, there's not too much I can take from school. I can borrow some stuff, like knowing how to do whatever sport we're made to try in Phys Ed, or maybe computer programming? I'll have to check with Mrs Knott next week. Maybe I can also get knowledge of calculus or trigonometry from Mr Quinlan.

I guess I can borrow some skills from the teacher before a test or exam, which would certainly be more reliable than those of the students, but how much of that would be useful in my day to day life? What I needed was a selection of skills to choose from, so I can pick something that would be useful.

I step outside, and the sudden gusting of the brisk morning wind shakes me out of my thoughts. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then slowly release it. Lots of skills requires lots of people, and I'm not too keen on that. Still, there are a couple of places where I can find lots of people without being hassled: the Boardwalk and the Lord's Street Market. I spend a few moments considering, weighing up the two of them, eventually settling on the Market. There's more stuff there that seems home-made, so at least I'm guaranteed to find something, even if I can't use it.

I smile, looking up and down the street.

I didn't get arrested for touring-with-powers, and I have a plan for somewhere to go. I don't know what I'll get from it, or how I'll use whatever I end up finding later on, but right now my weekend is looking promising, and I can't stop myself from imagining all sorts of different skills to pick up. I know the reality won't be able to live up to the daydreams, but at this moment I really don't care.


End file.
